


And Quietly Flows the Rhine

by Quillori



Category: Inspired by Music - Fandom, Waldesgespräch - Schumann (Song)
Genre: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:43:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillori/pseuds/Quillori





	And Quietly Flows the Rhine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zdenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/gifts).



There is a rock at the narrowest point of the river, known as the murmuring rock by those who ply their trade up and down between the towns of Koblenz and Bingen, for always as the waves strike it, it echoes back their steady wash. The boatmen sing loudly as they pass it, to drown out the sound, for they say that sometimes, half hidden behind the murmuring of the waves, there is a quiet, soft song, so seductive and so enchanting that those who catch its notes will hurl themselves headlong into the river, desperate to reach the source of that siren call, only to be dashed against the rock and drowned. And it is true that on occasion someone will lean too far and fall into the water, at which times it is always claimed that they heard the fatal singing, though as to the truth of the story, it is impossible to say, since the party concerned is generally beyond mortal questioning. Certainly the last such one to drown, a handsome boy new to river-work, had been well known for the excellence and acuity of his hearing; then again, he was newly hired, and may well not have been as sure-footed and steady as his older colleagues. This is but one example of the charming superstitions that abound especially in this area, with many tales of supernatural dangers attaching to different features of the local landscape.

**~**

The hunt was the favoured pastime of the rich young men of Sankt Goarshausen, and in season the surrounding woods rang all day with the sound of horns and the baying of hounds; only as darkness fell would they make their way back to their homes and to the warmly lit taverns of the busy town. On one such evening, one of the hunters, separated from the rest, paused for a moment to admire the forest: amongst the hunting party, the woods were no more than a setting, the chosen field for that day’s entertainment, but alone they took on a grander character, both more personal and more mysterious. The earthy smell of rotting leaves, the height of the trees, their branches interlocking to cut out the sky, the multitude of ways between the trees, splitting and branching as they vanished from sight into the darkening woods - viewed solitary, in silence, they seemed more tangibly real and also somehow more significant, as though they had a particular importance of their own, older and and truer than that of the town.

Somewhere out of sight the sun had already set and the sharp, frosty cold of night was setting in as the last of the light faded, but the hunter was unconcerned: however labyrinthine the twisting, confused paths might seem to a stranger, to a local the constant, reassuring murmur of the Rhine was as true a compass as any magnet, and while it was possible to get so far out of one’s way as to take most of the night to get home, struggling back into town cold and annoyed in the dawn’s unforgiving light, it was not possible to be truly and completely lost when one direction was always so plainly marked. Nor did the hunter fear meeting any great danger - there were wild boar, certainly, but no more fearsome animal, outside of fairytale monsters, and those, of one sort or another, might be said to lurk anywhere, each in their appointed place: in the house, or the hen-yard, or at crossroads, or around deserted farms, so that a man determined to avoid them would find himself with nowhere to go at all.

The hunter glanced in the direction of the faint lap of the river, for orientation, and had already set off walking at a brisk stride when over and above the sounds of the forest and the river, and the distant sounds of men and dogs, there was another sound, so soft it seemed it should surely have been inaudible - the faint rustle of silk and footsteps so light and so quiet they hardly disturbed a leaf or a twig of the thickly carpeted forest floor. There, appearing slowly amongst the trees, her form at first as uncertain and indistinct in the thickening gloom as marsh light, white against the gathering darkness, was a young women, dressed richly but all in white, her hair so blond as to almost match her clothes and her complexion so fair it was impossible she was ever forced to walk in sunlight. For all the town-richness of her dress, she seemed somehow a part of the forest, as though the very trees had taken human form, or the days of myth were still upon the earth and she some dryad wandering her domain.

The hunter gazed at her in wonder, almost forgetting to breath, and forgetting quite any purpose or concern beyond her perfect beauty. Perhaps it was only a moment, or perhaps some much greater length, before the hunter, stammering and speaking almost at random, recalled enough of where they were to make some halting and confused offer of assistance, hardly daring even to address such unearthly beauty.

The woman reached out one cool white hand and laid it upon the hunter’s cheek, her touch as gentle as the first snowflakes of winter. “How come you to be parted from your brave companions, wandering here alone, prey to all the dangers of the forest? Do you have a name to give me? You seem so very young.”

The hunter, heart beating fast at her touch, blushing unwillingly, stood determinedly straight. “I am called Burkhardt, and there are no dangers in this forest I am unwilling to meet. Will you accept my protection?”

The woman laughed, and her voice was as melodic as the murmuring Rhine or a waterfall over rocks on a summer’s day. “Do you really not know who I am? I have no need of protection - it is you who will never see your fellows again, clay cold and dead long before the sun shall rise again. Look upon me, young Burkhardt, for I am the last sight you shall ever see.”

And indeed it seemed as though the woman’s beauty was almost luminous, glowing like a cold flame, and to the hunter it was as though the air itself was being burned away, so hard it was to gaze upon her and still breath. But still the young hunter stood, firm and determined, and though the witch’s beauty seemed to fill the woods until there was nothing anywhere but her soft white hair that smelled of wildflowers in spring, the pale curve of her neck, the delicate curve of her body beneath the soft caress of her white dress ... even so the hunter stood, flushed and desiring but alive, undrowned and unsubsumed in the fatal spell that wound about the woman.

At last with a frustrated cry the witch gave over, and looked with baffled surprise at the still living youth, who gave a shaken laugh. “I known well now who you are, for you are the witch Lorelei; it is you who knows too little of me, for I am protected by a secret of which you are ignorant. You will find you have no power to overcome me.”

Lorelei, for such indeed it was, considered the hunter, who gazed steadily back at her. At last a slow, misleading smile curved the perfect bow of her lips with seductive treachery. “Very well then. If you have nothing to fear from me there is no harm in a little game. Tell me something true that is not already known to me and that has some bearing on your secret, and for each thing you tell me, I will make reply.”

The hunter nodded. “I consent. For the first, I will tell you that I came to these woods deliberately, abandoning my comrades and walking alone to tempt you forth, that I might find you.”

“You are brave for one so young,” said the witch. “May it be granted that you are not over brave. In recompense let me tell you a story of a time long ago, when your town of Sankt Goarshausen was newly founded, and still more village than town.

“In those days I was a young woman, flesh and blood and human soul, just as you, and I was courted by a young man, the most handsome and delightful I had ever seen. He walked with me in the town square, and along the banks of the river, and in the cool, green shade of the forest, and he spoke to me as fair as any young man may. He bought me ribbons to bind up my hair and embroidered slippers for my feet; he tied a golden belt around my slim waist; in the pleasant, secluded woods, he murmured promises to me he would not keep.

“He swore to me he would be faithful henceforth only to me, faithful with every breath he breathed of God’s good air, and that we should marry and grow old together. But he lied. His interest waned like the moon, and soon I found him kissing and courting another girl, whose hair was still unbound and whose waist was now slimmer than mine. I cried out then and cursed him, cursed every breath he should ever breath, and desired the air itself to desert him, letting him die, choking on his deceit.

“I screamed my curses loudly, tearing at my flesh and sanctifying them with my own blood, until others came running and led me away to the church. No one knew at first what to do with me, for I would do nothing but repeat my curse on the false young man, but at last they determined to send me to a nearby nunnery, that they might know what to do for me there, so I was at once led off through this very forest, guarded close on all sides. But when we passed the rock that marks the narrowest point of the river, I spoke up, and asked to be allowed to look back once upon our town, before I left it forever, and so pleased were they to find I could still speak other than my curses, they at once let me climb up as I had asked. I climbed to the very top and from there I flung myself down to drown in the Rhine, clinging with all my soul to my curse, and thus became what you see before you now. 

“That is my story. Have you another truth to sell to me?”

The hunter looked grave. “In one matter, you speak more truly than perhaps you know. But yes, I have another truth to sell. I came not only in search of you, but of someone else also, whom I fear you have bewitched.”

The witch Lorelei considered the hunter, and her eyes in the darkness seemed to glow with a green flame, and her teeth were very white and sharp. “There was at one time a little grey cat, pretty and delicate, that chanced one day to see a human man, a great lord dressed in all his finery, and fell in love with him, desiring to be his bride, even though such things cannot be, and it is not proper for a cat to look too high. 

“This little cat, though, was determined and clever, and she devised a spell that would turn her into a women, the most beautiful woman that had ever been seen. She made this spell out of her own longing, which was strong enough to achieve anything. So there she stood, fair as the moonlight on snow, and as richly dressed as a queen, and the noble lord saw her and loved her as she stood there before him, and wished to marry her, whatsoever her station in life and whoever her parents might be.

“So they were married with great ceremony, and the little cat was happy with her lord, until one night a mouse happened to run across the bed chamber floor, and she at once, in the manner of her kind, leapt upon it and devoured it, and thus her secret was revealed.

“At that time there was great unrest and constant wars swept across the land; the townspeople therefore were afraid and looked everywhere for any power that might protect them. Learning of the cat who had become a lady, and realising the power of such a spell, they therefore determined to use her to create for themselves a sure defense against any who might attack their town. So they bound the little cat in a silver net and bore her to the river, where they held her down and drowned her, chanting the appropriate words, and created from her a water spirit who would endure so long as the river endures, and be a danger to any who approached unwittingly.”

The witch smiled triumphantly at the hunter. “There, that is another story of mine. What other truths do you have to sell for such coin?”

The hunter sketched a gallant bow. “From you, even such coin is acceptable. How could I not long to hear any tale at all from such sweet lips, and in such sweet voice? My third truth is that it is my brother I seek, who heard you singing from your rock above the river, and leapt from his boat to reach you. His body has not been found, and I still hope it not too late to save him from your grasp.”

The cold night air played about them both, hunter and witch, but Lorelei remained unmoving, although her rich clothes were light and the very ends of her fair white hair were still damp with river water. At last she nodded. “So be it then. It was in these same woods, many long years ago, years beyond count or memory, that I wandered, lost and alone, with no one to aid or protect me. The woods were very dark, and cold, and I was hungry, and afraid, and so very lonely. Sometimes I stumbled, grazing my knees on the sharp rocks; sometimes I was scratched by the sharp briars. Always hunger gnawed away at me and I had nowhere to rest. At last I sat down on an old and rotten log and began to cry. The night grew darker and I had no tears left, and as the darkness grew so did the biting cold, until I was so cold I stopped shivering and was near death. Just then there was the sound of steps, and the undergrowth was disturbed: it was three does, stepping delicately into the clearing where I lay. They looked down on me with their large, dark eyes, and then they lay down close around me, keeping me warm with their warmth, and allowing me to feed on their milk. To this day I do not know whether they were real, mortal deer, or whether they were some elfen creatures, but in the morning I was still alive, and now the world around me was strange, changed in the night by some alchemy that made the forest glow in unnatural colours, and let me perceive things hidden to human eyes.

“I walked on until I came to a particular place, no different from any other place, except that a certain beam of sunlight struck through the trees just so, and in my altered vision it seemed that it was a solid thing, golden and real, that I could have touched and found smooth and hard beneath my hands, not insubstantial light. There I stood, amazed, wondering what such a sight could portend, when one of the great old spirits of the land, the mouros-dwarfs, rose up before me, enchanting me to remain forever as the guardian of a great treasure that lay beneath that spot, marked by the marvellous beam of gold. I know not what form the treasure takes, whether mere riches only, or power, or a spring of life itself, but from that time, for all the ages since, I have remained here, forever young and forever deadly to any man I meet, until such times as someone may, by means unknown, free me from this enchantment and claim me and the treasure both.”

“And now, young Burkhart, I have told you three tales. Do you but pick the one that is true, and I will give you what you will, if it be in my power to do so, but if you pick wrong you must give up your secret entire to me, that I may see how to overcome it.”

“And if I do not choose to pick?”

“Then there is nothing more for us to say. But surely you desire to win me for your own - as beautiful but no longer dangerous, to do with as you please? And even if you lose, do you not in your heart desire to give over whatever charm protects you and give yourself up to be lost in me? What better way could there be to die than to die enraptured by my beauty? Far better end than to return to town alone, mocked by my memory, to find nothing else ever in your life as fair or as haunting.”

“And moreover I would lose any chance of saving my brother,” said the hunter practically. “So there is, in truth, no choice, but little chance either of winning, I think, for you have said much, but at no time have you said that any of yours tales are true: therefore I conclude that not two but all three are false, or if they be true, then they are partial and misleading, with truth and falsehood mingled equally throughout the three. Let us, then, play some other game instead, one in which there is a fair chance for us each. Tell me truly how I may regain my brother, and in return I shall tell you truly what you seek to know.”

Lorelei bit her pale lip and her green eyes were doubtful and uncertain, but the young hunter was very fair to look upon, and she did not wish to let him go; nor could she see how he could truly escape her, if she once knew what manner of spell or talisman protected him, and so she at last agreed and gave her word she would abide by the the hunter’s terms.

“Though not,” she said “that it will bring you much joy, for your brother is already dead. I expect his body is somewhere downstream, already half eaten away by those same fish which will be caught and served for Friday’s fast.”

Night had by now fallen entirely, nor could the moonlight reach through the trees, so that the only light was the the unearthly glow of Lorelei. The forest had grown silent - not only had the sounds of man and dog long ceased, but even the creatures of the night forbore to disturb the stillness, so that there was no rustling amongst the bushes, and no owl hooted in the distance. The only sound was the quiet murmur of the Rhine.

“I did not ask if he were already dead,” the hunter reminded her, “but rather how I might regain him. Tell me that or tell me nothing and let us go our separate ways.”

The lovely Lorelei shook her fair head sadly. “It is no small thing to recover the dead, and had he been buried with proper ceremony, or had he died in any way but from my spell, I could tell you of no means you might use. As it is, his soul sped early from his body, enraptured by my voice, and left only flesh and bone to be broken on the rocks and drowned: that soul still drifts along the river or through the woods, venturing no farther than the sound of the Rhine may be heard, and so it will drift until it has quite faded away, as though he had never been. By my art, I could summon it back, to take root and grow in some new life: a new-sprouted seed, perhaps, or in the womb of some forest creature - but why should I choose to do such a thing, when you will have nothing more to give me for my efforts? And now I have given you your answer, give me mine: how comes it that you may look on me and live? For I see clearly the longing in your eyes, and yet it does not call forth your soul.”

“Your own words spoke it: a young woman, flesh and blood and soul, like myself. I dressed like this in the hope you would appear, knowing that the full extent of your power is granted only over men - you have had, so far as I have heard, no female victims, which gave me hope. Moreover the love which I bear for my brother, who has always been most dear to me, and the longing to be reunited with him, is strong enough to fix my errant soul with iron bands: however lovely you may seem, I shall not abandon him.” The hunter stepped forward and took Lorelei’s cold, white hand in hers. “And so it seems I have something to give you after all. Call back my brother to life before his soul fades away to nothing, and if you desire company, I will stay here in these woods with you, watching over him, of my own free will. Or if you desire my death, you may have that, but naturally, by some weapon, so that my soul will pass safely on.” 

But some things must be passed over in silence, and though the lovely Lorelei acceded to the hunter’s offer, and kissed her to seal it, the manner of recompense she chose, and the new form of the brother are unlike unrecorded, though it has become a local habit never to hunt deer in that stretch of the woods, for it said that sometimes they look at you with human understanding in their dark eyes.

**~**

The area around Sankt Goarshausen is noted for its beauty, and makes a popular subject for painters. The whole effect, with the river and the cliff and the forest above, is very pleasing, and has a picturesque charm reminiscent of olden times, when fairytale creatures were said to haunt the woods, and an unwary traveller might at any moment come across an enchanted princess or a hungry water-sprite, or discover some hidden purse of gold or even the legendary waters of life, unattended in some dim green glen. Of course, such days are long past, and only a few of the oldest inhabitants still take such stories seriously; but the modern tourist will greatly enjoy the harmless pleasures of these old fashioned tales. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [River have mercy (Remix of "And Quietly Flows the Rhine")](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4224258) by [Syrena_of_the_lake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/pseuds/Syrena_of_the_lake)




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